


Snow Angels

by wattpads_songbird



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergent, M/M, Post Season 9 Episode 9, Pre-Mark of Cain, Shipper Sam, Snow, Snow Angels, canon!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 22:45:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4155810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wattpads_songbird/pseuds/wattpads_songbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Castiel sets out to unlock the many secrets snow holds in its cold grasp, but instead discovers an angel that is better than the literal, winged dick, angels. </p><p>❄❅❆</p><p>Taking place after Cas loses his grace, but has stolen grace; Dean does not yet have the Mark of Cain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Angels

**Author's Note:**

> ❝Maybe redemption has stories to tell.  
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell.  
Where can you run to escape from yourself?  
Where you gonna go?  
Where you gonna go?  
Salvation is here.❞

— Switchfoot, _Dare You To Move_

❄❅❆

Castiel sat perched upon the window sill. His forehead rested against the cool glass as he watched the snow fall to the ground. The angel thought back to the many times over his existence that he had seen the snow fall to Earth from Heaven. It didn’t compare to seeing it fall while on Earth. To actually see the snow accumulate on the ground and suffocate the grass blades underneath its cold weight, it was something every being should be able to see. 

As Castiel thought back to his time on Earth, it always seemed as if he had impeccable timing in just missing the snow. One time, Castiel was with the boys as they were leaving a hunt in Chicago, Dean, like always, had the radio on. When they were about an hour away from the city, the man in the radio proclaimed that Chicago had gotten a foot of snow.

The angel had been watching the snowfall since it had first begun very early that morning, or very late that night, depending on how you’d like to look at it. After Castiel had tried, and once again failed, to count the sheep that supposedly helped you sleep and took up residence in his head, he decided he would curl up on the window sill for the remainder of the night. When Castiel saw the first snowflake fall, he thought it was just a trick of his eyes. A minute passed, and the angel decided that it was, in fact, snowing. 

Dean woke up with a strange sense of peace. His heart kicked up in his chest, and he quickly sat up to count heads. Sammy was okay, sleeping sprawled out on the motel bed with limbs in every direction. Cas was okay, sitting up on the window sill, his silhouette outlined by the early morning light. 

Swinging his still jean clad legs to the side of the bed, Dean shuffled his way over to the angel. It was then Dean noticed what had encaptured all of Cas’ attention. It had snowed, and the angel was completely absorbed in the fluffy substance, excitement clear in his eyes. Dean leaned next to the window, casting his gaze over to Baby, who was covered from tire to roof. He then asked the angel in a hushed voice, “You’ve seen snow before, right?”

Castiel’s eyes left the snow and moved up to Dean. “I have from Heaven.” A pang of guilt coursed through Castiel at the thought of his home. “It’s very different here, like with so many other things… Dean?”

Dean let his eyes flicker back to the angel. “Yeah?”

“What is the protocol for snow?” Dean’s eyes narrowed in confusion, not quite understanding the question. Castiel elaborated, “Apparently, in rain, you are supposed to sing and dance with an umbrella, is there a certain action that goes along with snow?”

Dean almost smiled despite himself at the blue wide eyed look of the clueless angel. It didn’t help that Dean was imaging Cas as Gene Kelly, splashing around in puddles and singing. Dean quickly shook his thoughts from his mind and answered Castiel’s question. “For starters, when the hell did you watch _Singing in The Rain_? Second, there’s not a protocol. You...make a snowman, throw a snowball or two; you can do whatever you want to do.”

Castiel tilted his head thoughtfully to the side, wondering how you made a person out of snow. He then said, “You fell asleep during _Braveheart_ , and it came on afterwards. I didn’t know how to shut off the TV.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said, recalling that night. “Did you get the ending of _Braveheart_?”

“They didn’t take his freedom, correct?”

“...I guess not,” Dean replied. He moved his gaze back to Baby. “You’re gonna help me shovel, right?”

“Shovel?”

“The snow. Get it out of Baby’s way so we can get back to the bunker.”

Castiel didn’t hesitate to nod. He was good with any excuse to be with Dean, and the snow was a nice added bonus. Castiel desperately wanted to know what it felt like to have the snowflakes melt on his skin and to have them stick in his hair. He wondered if snow had a taste. Maybe it would be better than peanut butter and jelly. Castiel then realized that if snow had a taste, he wouldn’t _really_ taste it. It would only be millions of particles on his palette. 

Dean smiled ever so slightly once his back was turned to Cas. He then started searching through his and Sammy’s bags for anything that resembled winter wear. He came back with two pairs of mismatched gloves, two jackets, and a knit hat. He tossed a jacket, a pair of gloves, and the hat at Castiel. 

The angel caught the items and stared at them for a second, unsure what he was supposed to be doing with them. 

“I know that the cold doesn’t bother angels, but it’s part of the experience,” Dean said. After a moment of Cas still staring at the clothing, he rolled his eyes and said, “Put them on.”

Castiel stood up from the window sill and set the clothes where he used to be sitting. He shimmied out of his trenchcoat and meticulously hung it up. He then slipped on the winter jacket that was at least two sizes too big on him. It got a bit more complicated after that. Castiel picked up one of the gloves. His first attempt to put on the glove resulted in his pinky and ring finger in the ring finger’s place. The second attempt wasn’t much better with his pointer and middle finger where only his pointer should have resided. 

Dean was just about to ask Cas if he was ready, but one look at the angel, and it was apparent that Cas was nowhere near ready. With a shake of his head, Dean walked up to Castiel and took the glove off the angel’s hand. “This isn’t that hard, Cas,” Dean said, slipping the glove onto Castiel’s hand. He repeated the same with the other glove. He then took the knit hat and pulled it over Cas’ head so that it covered his ears. He frowned as he saw one odd tuft of black hair was sticking rather dorkily out of the hat. Before Dean could fully think out his actions, his ran his hand over the section of hair, tucking the feather like hair back in the hat. 

After a split second of having done that, Dean fully realized what he had just done. He felt heat start to bloom in his neck. With a coughed, he quickly moved away from Cas. If Cas had noticed Dean’s uncomfort, he didn’t comment on it. He instead said, “This is all rather tedious.” Castiel wasn’t complaining, he was more so stating a fact.

“It could be worse. You could look like Randy,” Dean said, bending down to tie up his boots.

Castiel remember that movie: _A Christmas Story_. It had played all day on Christmas, so he and the Winchesters had watched it. Sam grumbled all the way through the movie, claiming he’d rather watch a movie called _It’s A Wonderful Life_. Dean had insisted, claiming it was tradition. Castiel hadn’t cared either way. The only thing he cared about was being on that couch with them. He didn’t care that he didn’t understand the jokes, or why a triple dog dare justified sticking one’s tongue on a pole, or anything that was going on half the time. Castiel knew that if he really needed to know something, Dean would pause the movie and explain it to the best of his ability. 

Dean glanced at Castiel and deemed him snow worthy, even if he was practically swimming in his overgrown brother’s coat. “Let’s do this.” Dean took a step out the door, but quickly retracted that step. “Just, whatever you do, don’t go near any yellow snow.”

The angel nodded in agreement, but quickly became curious as to whether there were other shades of snow he should be wary of. 

❄❅❆

Castiel loved the sound his shoes made as he walked in the snow. _Crunch, crunch, crunch_. As the two made their way to the main office, Castiel alternated between looking behind him to see the footprints he left behind, and looking ahead to step in the footprints Dean left in the snow. Thoughts swirled around in Cas’ head as he pondered the many secrets snow held. Castiel decided that snow was his favorite form of precipitation. It was simple, and pure, and just...nice. 

Leaving Cas outside the office, Dean ducked inside to pick up two shovels. He approached the counter and tried not to cough as the air was thickly clad with cigarette smoke. “Hey,” he said to the woman behind the counter. She looked up from her magazine, looking like she might keel over from boredom any minute. Dean smiled. “You by any chance got two shovels me and my buddy could borrow?” 

The woman cast her gaze to Castiel, who was right where Dean had left him, still staring at the snow. She looked back up at Dean. “He ain’t ever seen snow before?” 

“He’s...not from around here,” Dean said with a chuckle. 

The woman returned to looking bored. “In the closet over there.” She waved over to a closet on the other side of the office. Taking a drag from her cigarette, she eyed Dean thoughtfully.

“Thanks,” Dean said with an uncomfortable smile.

Once his back was turned, he could’ve sworn he heard the woman mutter, “Along with some other things.”

Castiel looked up from the snow as he heard the bells on the door jingle. Dean handed over a shovel, and the two made their way over to the Impala. Once they got there, Castiel noticed that Dean’s ears were beginning to turn a light red. Contemplating this observation, Castiel took the knit hat off of his head. The angel then took a step in front of Dean.

“What’re you—” the hunter’s words died in his mouth as the angel’s glove clad fingers brushed against the tips of his ears. Cas was rather close to Dean as he put the hat on the hunter. Dean was immensely grateful that his ears were already red from the wind. 

“Your ears looked cold,” Castiel said, justifying his actions. 

Dean fidgeted with the hat. “Uh, thanks?”

Castiel was surprised to discover just how heavy the fluffy substance was. Nevertheless, he continued to shovel around the Impala. As per usual, the angel was being a perfectionist. He almost had a perfect square shoveled out when a pile of snow landed smack dab in the middle of the clear asphalt. Castiel glared up at a grinning Dean.

“Oops, my hand slipped, sorry,” he said, a grin still plastered on his features. 

Castiel didn’t think he sounded very sorry. He returned his attention back to clearing away the snow in his square. It was then Dean was struck with a brilliant idea. He took a half a scoop of snow, waited, and once Cas bent down…

“Ah!” the angel exclaimed as he got a facefull of snow. Dean started to chuckle, but he lost it once he saw Cas’ rather annoyed look and snowflakes easily seen littering his black hair. As the angel shook the snowflakes out of his hair, he couldn’t help but start laughing as well. He really couldn’t complain; he had wanted to feel the snow on his hair and skin. Not to mention, Dean was laughing, full out laughing. Castiel decided he liked that sound much better than the sound of his shoes in the snow. While Castiel couldn't really feel the cold, he remember how uncomfortable it was. What the angel did feel was each individual flake hit his skin and begin to melt. He could tell that each flake was unique in shape, size, and softness. Castiel then came to the conclusion that snowflakes were like humans in that way. 

Dean watched as Cas seemed to be pondering something rather intensely. He wondered what was running around in the angel’s mind, what had put that crease in between his eyebrows. Dean crouched down and took a fist full of snow. He quickly formed it into a ball and threw it at Cas. The angel jumped and looked over to Dean. As the hunter bent down to form another snowball, he asked, “What’re you thinking so hard about?” 

“The similarities between humans and snowflakes,” Castiel replied truthfully. 

Slowly rising back to his feet, Dean contemplated the answer. “You think too hard about things,” he said, throwing his snowball at the angel. Shoveling out Baby becoming the farthest thing from the hunter’s mind. 

This time Castiel saw the weaponized snow coming. He ducked behind the Impala. “That’s a little hypocritical, Dean,” he called, not daring to stick his head out. 

“Really?” Dean called back, trying to stall as he made a snowball. 

“I would say so,” Castiel started, trying to make a snowball. “You have a habit of holding onto things.”

Creeping around the side of Baby, Dean had to suppress a laugh as he saw Cas trying to make a snowball. Dean chucked his snowball and said, “Didn’t have a problem letting that go. I’m like Elsa.”

Castiel glared over at Dean. “How did you make this into a weapon?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Dean said. He made his way over to Cas, knowing that he wasn’t in danger of a snowball attack. 

“Dean,” the angel said, his voice borderlining a whine. 

The hunter couldn’t refuse. With a sigh, he crouched down in front of Cas. Taking some snow in his hands, Dean held it out to Cas. Castiel held out his hands, and Dean plopped the snow in his outstretched palms. “The trick is to be firm, but gentle.” 

Castiel stared at Dean with wide blue eyes. “I think those two things contradict each other.” 

Dean shook his head, and guided the angel’s hands, helping form the snowball. Castiel liked the pressure of Dean’s hands on his. Castiel then found himself studying Dean’s facial expression. The hunter’s brow was furrowed, and his nose twitched every now and then. Castiel squinted slightly as he concentrated on Dean’s freckles. He liked the little specs that covered the hunter’s nose. They were like snowflakes as well, no two alike.

The hunter was hyper aware of Cas’ eyes boring into him. Just when Dean thought that maybe he had gotten used to Cas’ intense gaze, he was proven wrong. This happened over and over again. A vicious cycle of denial. What Dean was in greatest denial about, though, was that the angel looked at him like he was worth something. How could someone who had seen so much think he was worth a second glance? But there he was, his eyes feeling as if they could leave imprints on his skin just as well as his hand. 

Dean let his eyes flicker up to Cas’. That was a mistake. His hands noticeably faltered. Dean was taken aback by just how blue his eyes were. They were always an intense shade, but the sun’s light off the snow had only amplified the color. After a lingering moment, Dean said in a thick voice, “There you go.” He quickly cleared his throat and rose to his feet. 

Castiel followed behind Dean as he stared in amazement at the perfect ball of snow that sat in his hands. He now knew that he had to throw the snow at Dean. Castiel halfway threw the snow at Dean’s arm. 

Raising an eyebrow at Cas, Dean dramatically clutched his arm. “Damn, you’ve got one hell of an arm.”

“You’re using sarcasm, correct?” Castiel asked quickly. Sarcasm was a human thing that he still had trouble with. 

Dean took a few shaky steps. “So this is how I go. Death by snowball.”

“Dean,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Oh, the agony!” Dean exclaimed as he fell back onto a pile of snow. It didn’t take long before those damned blue eyes were peering down at him. 

“That _was_ sarcasm…?” Cas asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, Cas.” He then held out a hand. “Now, help me up.” Castiel took Dean’s hand, but the hunter had other plans. With a yank of his hand, Dean caused the unsuspecting Cas to lose his balance and fall next to him in a flurry of limbs and snow. It was then Dean decided that there was one thing Cas had to do to get the full snow experience. 

“Was that necessary?” Castiel huffed as he lay in the snow, casting his gaze over to Dean.

“Yes,” Dean replied without missing a beat. He then scooted an arm’s length away from the angel. “Move your arms and legs like this,” Dean told Cas, moving them as to make a snow angel.

Peering over at Dean, Castiel copied the hunter’s movements. 

Sam looked around the motel room, and when he discovered neither his brother nor Cas was anywhere to be seen, he grudgingly got out of bed. Making his way over to the window, he saw that the Impala was still in the parking lot, halfway shoveled out of the snow. It was then Sam saw something he never in a million years thought he would see. Dean was making a snow angel, and next to him, an actual angel. A knowing smile crawled onto Sam’s features as he saw the glance Dean threw at the angel. He shook his head at the two oblivious people and decided he’d try to get a few more minutes of sleep. 

“Why am I doing this?” Castiel asked after a few minutes. 

“We’re making snow angels. I thought an angel couldn’t go his life without making one.”

“Dean, there aren’t angels for specific precipitation.” 

Dean stood up and walked over to the angel. “Shut up,” he said while holding out a hand. Once the angel had grabbed the hunter’s hand, Dean lifted him out of the snow. The two’s hands lingered near each others for a few seconds too long. Castiel wished they would’ve stayed like that longer, and Dean wished that he didn’t feel heat clawing up his neck. 

“They’re not literal angels,” Dean said, willing the heat to dissipate.

Castiel then got it. He could see how his arms had made the wings, and how his legs had made a robe. “So, anyone could be an angel?”

“I guess,” Dean said, thinking that he could not be an angel.

“I miss my wings,” Cas muttered. 

Dean’s heart tugged in his chest as he saw the crestfallen expression that covered Cas’ features. Without even thinking about it, Dean placed a hand on Cas’ back, right where he had told him his wings would have resided. Dean’s hand started to make a small circle as if the action was second nature. “I know, buddy.” 

Castiel melted like snow against Dean’s hand. He had done this before, when Castiel had first lost his wings. With the weight of his wings gone from his shoulders, the angel could barely lift his arms. Anytime he’d try, his shoulders and back would scream in agony. Castiel tried not to call too much attention to his pain. He felt as if he deserved it, considering what he had done. Dean had, of course, noticed. How could he not? 

Dean tried not to call too much attention to him helping the angel. It was subtle things like picking something up, or his hand going to Cas’ back as the angel shifted in discomfort when they watched a movie. Castiel was more grateful than he could ever express in words for those small things. Perhaps the memory the angel loved most was discovering the peanut butter having been moved to the first shelf in the cabinet rather than it's normal spot on the top.

His back and shoulders still ached, but he had learned to work with the pain. Something then occurred to Castiel. He very carefully stepped up to the snow angel Dean had made. Castiel meticulously pressed his hand into the thin layer of snow where the angel’s left shoulder was.

When Castiel turned back around, he was met with a curious look from Dean. The angel resumed his position by the hunter’s side before saying, “You’re an angel.”

Dean’s green eyes clouded over with doubt. He snorted, trying to play off the seriousness of that statement. “Please, I’m the farthest thing someone could get from an angel.” 

Castiel smiled and took Dean’s hand in his own, knowing that Dean didn’t see in himself what Castiel saw. What he first saw trapped by Hell’s fires, what he’s seen every day since then: a soul brighter than anything the angel had ever seen in his life. The foreign grace warmed and twisted in the angel’s core. 

Dean stared at the two glove clad hands. It was as if Cas had hit his off button; like the neurons in Dean’s brain had all shorted out. Even in the gloves, Cas’ fingers fit perfectly in the spaces between Dean’s. Despite the warmth that now encaptured the hunter’s hand, a shiver wracked his body.

“Not literal angels,” Castiel started, playing off of Dean’s words. “Literal angels are, as you put it, winged dicks. You’re a better kind.” Dean’s eyes traveled up from their hands and came to rest on Cas’ eyes. Cas smiled once more, the edges of his eyes crinkling in fondness at the fields of green that were the hunter’s eyes. He thought about all the little things Dean did for him, and his newfound knowledge of snow. “They’re called snow angels.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://magnificat-cas.tumblr.com/)


End file.
